Archive for music industry

***From the archives: This is one of my all-time favorite interviews! Diabolique Editor-in-Chief Kat Ellinger and I dive deep…(Original Oct 2016 post can be found HERE.) ***

“Musical Séance and the Sublime Art of Darkness:”

Resembling the lovechild of H.H. Holmes and a silent era siren, when it comes to dark music there is only one Jill Tracy. As a singer, pianist, and performer, she conjures a timeless netherworld that opens up the portals to forgotten places; nightmarish, magickal, bathed in perpetual twilight. It is not surprising that since her breakthrough album, sophomore effort 1999’s Diabolical Streak (a follow-up to 1996’s Quintessentially Unreal)—which includes morbid classics like Evil Night Together, The Fine Art of Poisoning, and Pulling Your Insides Out—Tracy has gone from strength to strength, gathering worldwide acclaim. Constantly evolving, tirelessly, endlessly, she is a creative force to be reckoned with.

Diabolique caught up with Tracy to talk to her about her origins, her love for the occult, the macabre, her fascination with the otherworldly, and how this fuels her creative canvass. Tracy also shares with us her inspirations, her thoughts on the commodification of music and struggle with being a truly unique independent artist, as well as discussing some of her collaborations and current work with Philadelphia’s Mütter Museum.

Diabolique: How did you start out, and how has your music evolved over time?

Tracy: Strangely, I have come full circle, enamoured with minimalism, and doing solo shows again. That’s how it began, me at a piano—but when I first started out, I felt like it was not enough—I wanted a band. It had to be big! Most of my songs do have a heaviness- a cinematic, dark vibe, and I thought the only way I could achieve this intensity was to have more instruments. (Little did I know.) So the band grew from 3 players up to 11! I affectionately called them “The Malcontent Orchestra.” I’d joke onstage that “in a band of Malcontents you never knew who would show up,” so we had this great revolving cast of rock star guests. Even if the band was only 4 people, we’d call it The Malcontent Orchestra. It was fabulous. But in time, became overwhelming and limiting, not only for me—but rehearsals, travels, schedules, being able to make money. I was producing events, winning awards, but I was miserable. I felt like I had lost myself (and the music) in the din. All the nuances I strive so hard to achieve in my voice and piano were buried. I realized how much I wanted to utilize space and breath between the notes. Textures. The quiet can be rapturous, the most intense thing in the entire arrangement. The soul lives in the silence.

In the past few years, I have been excavating my work down to its essence, to what truly serves the songs, performing often as a trio, duo—or me alone—sharing eerie tales, memoir, scores and songs, manifesting my elegant netherworld. Falling in love with the experience that got me writing music in the first place.

Diabolique: How did you discover your love of the piano?

Tracy: I never wanted to play the piano. I always wanted to sing, but the piano discovered me in a sense. I was a misfit child, felt out-of-sorts with this world (still do.) I always believed there was another place, a magic, hidden realm that one could discover with the proper methods. I tried to build a time machine in my bedroom closet. I thought one could travel through the shadows.

I read about time travel, the belief in other dimensions, spirits, ghosts—I would lecture to my stuffed animals about the solar system and constellations. All I wanted to do was to discover or manifest hidden worlds. I knew they existed. My mission was to figure out how to find them.

I began making frequent visits to an elderly widow who lived next door. Her home was encrusted with bric-a-brac, old photos and dolls—porcelain-painted Siamese cats with jewels for eyes. In the basement was an ancient upright piano, covered entirely in beige and gold-flecked paint. It sat next to the washer and dryer, under buzzing fluorescent lights.

There was something atrocious, yet reverent about this thing. It kept calling me. I knew nothing about the instrument, but I kept venturing next door, poised on the golden bench for hours, letting thoughts and spectres rush through my fingertips, as it transported me far away. (I used to call it “thinking.”)

I didn’t know what I was doing– but didn’t want to do anything else. This became my portal—and still is.

Diabolique: You’ve become synonymous with your elegant, dark style and sound. When did you discover it?

Tracy: Thank you. I love that I am synonymous with my style, which essentially is just ME. I’ve looked like this for years! (laughs) I wouldn’t know any other way.

I’ve always been drawn to the shadowy intrigue of the silent screen era, gypsies and fortune tellers, the occult, and 1970s rock. My style is a collection of passions. I’ve always felt any glamour worth its shimmer has an equally ragged edge.

I did the proverbial running-away to New York City after high school, lived on the third floor of a former coffin factory. All I owned was a mattress on the floor and an old baby grand piano. (This was circa 1990, back when you could still be a struggling artist in NYC.) I used to sit in the wee hours at the candle-lit piano, peering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows into the streetlights and vacant lot below. I never felt more inspired— or more alone. My music became my spell, my incantation, my catharsis. It was so private to me, in fact, that it was years before I would even let anyone hear it.

Diabolique:Could you tell about some of your musical influences— also could you explain the influence of cinematic music on your overall sound?

Tracy: I have always been drawn to the mysterious—fantastical, otherworldly imagery. Worlds sans-time. I’m obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock, Bernard Herrmann, Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling, Jean Cocteau. Through classic cinema, film noir, and Serling’s The Twilight Zone, I was captivated by the glorious mystery, elegance, and succinct, yet smart storytelling. Often it was what you didn’t see that really put the fear in you. Not to mention the dreamlike, sensual look to the films, dangerous romance, unsettling camera angles, surreal lighting and shadows.

I used to stay up all night as a kid, watching old horror movies on Chiller Theater. I’d often turn the volume down on the TV and make up my own music. We had an old Hammond organ in the house. I learned that MUSIC conjured the emotional response. The music held all the power.

What was it about certain notes or scales? Why does a certain scale make us feel scared, aroused, and then another scale or chord is joyful? Is it simply mathematics, conditioning, or something visceral? Magical?

Composer Bernard Herrmann tells the tale of how Hitchcock originally wanted silence during the infamous Psycho shower scene! Can you even imagine it today without the trademark shrieking violins? That’s a vital part of what makes that scene so memorable. And those violins alone evoke fear and violence whenever we hear them.

The rock bands that first inspired me had the same beautiful sense of mystique and grace—Pink Floyd, David Bowie, early Peter Gabriel, Japan, The Cure. Even listening to Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, early Genesis— there was something majestic—and timeless. These artists were well read, and made us want to pull books off the shelves. I learned about Aleister Crowley from listening to Bowie, learned about Nabokov from The Police. This sense of grace, mastery, and sophistication is sadly lacking today.

I realized back then I wanted to create work that was timeless and singular.

Late night New York City alleyways during filming of the music video “Pulling Your Insides Out.”
Photo by Jeremy Carr

Diabolique:Could you explain the ideas behind your lyrical content?

Tracy: My work is about honoring the mystery, the forgotten, that beautiful allure of the darkness, the stories lost in Time, the ecstasy of melancholy—La Douleur Exquise “the exquisite pain.”

I often focus on the struggle of being yourself in a world that is trying its hardest to turn you into everybody else. Staying true to yourself; that’s the hardest and most glorious battle of all.

Diabolique:How do you combine aspects of performance and music for your live act? What could people expect at one of your shows?

Tracy: With environment and story playing such a role, I love to design events curious to the venue. I created an ongoing after-dark series at the wondrous San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers where I hosted night tours of the gardens and performed music. I curated each evening on a different intriguing theme— like the strange history of perfumes, poisonous plants and the arsenic craze, spirits that supposedly lived in various woods of violins.

I spent weeks researching and exploring the abandoned (and supposedly haunted) historical buildings of The Presidio (dating back to 1776), composed music based on my findings— then presented an evening inside the Officers Club Ballroom. I worked with the historical librarian to uncover almost 100 gorgeous archival photos which I projected behind me—early 1900s abandoned psychiatric ward, morgue and hospital wards, as I revealed their tales. The best part was performing the very piece of music I composed inside, on a 1903 Steinway grand, inspired by the centuries-old legend of the lady ghost who is often seen dancing in that very space.

That’s the magic music allows—like a trap door or portal, it transports us—to a place we never knew existed, but wish to go. I am a gatekeeper of emotions. My favorite thing is to be able to take an audience to that place with me.

Diabolique:How does composing music in unusual locations, or via strange objects, as in your Musical Séances, differ from writing songs?

Tracy: When I am writing songs, I’m emotionally connected and in charge. I’m masterful of every word, creak in my voice, arrangement, breath between the notes. It’s purposeful. There is a destination.

When I channel music, it’s the complete opposite, I have to surrender. I am the conduit, a passenger. I have NO idea where I am going. That is both the thrill and the challenge.

I’ve learned to compose spontaneously via various energy sources, whether found objects, environments, etc. I am clairaudient, so I often hear unexplained music and voices.

The Musical Séance is a live travelling show, my long-time collaboration with violinist Paul Mercer. It’s a collective summoning driven by beloved objects the audience brings with them. Items of personal significance—such as a photo, talisman, jewelry, toy. This is a very crucial part of manifesting the music. Every object holds its story, its spirit— energy, resonance, impressions from anyone who has ever held the object, to the experiences and emotions passed through it.

These compositions are delicate living things. They materialize, transport, and in the same second—they vanish. That’s the amazing thing about The Musical Seance—you never know what to expect, and each experience is entirely different, extremely emotional, for us, as well as the audience. It creates this rare synergy with everyone in the entire room.

It’s the closest thing to time travel.

Often, the curiosities themselves are just as compelling as the music they inspire. We’ve encountered everything from cremated cats, dentures, haunted paintings, 16th century swords, antlers, x-rays, gingerbread man, a lock of hair from a drowned boy.

But one thing I’ve learned is—everyone in the world has a story to tell that will break your heart.

Some of my favorite collaborative moments: When famed author Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler) and I performed a concert as a piano/accordion duo to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Fantômas, the beloved French pulp “Lord of Terror.” We played our hilarious, spine-tingling version of the original “Ballad of Fantômas” with all 26 verses!

I got to share the stage with legendary Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek while we played keyboards, and discussed how literature influenced our music.

I acted in several seasons of classic Grand Guignol with renowned troupe Thrillpeddlers—dying onstage in all sorts of violent ways: plunging off a balcony while singing Tosca, being hypnotized by a mad scientist, killed in a violent train crash, torn apart by a savage wolf boy!

Allowing yourself to be terrified and scream onstage in front of an audience is profoundly liberating and cathartic.

Diabolique:Your act is often described as dark cabaret, would you agree with the label, and what does the term mean to you? How would you describe your work within the context of “Gothic”?

Tracy: All these terms are annoying. They negate the artist, to serve the marketing—and constantly spun around in a blender. We must now cram everything in watered-down boxes to sell it to the unknowing herd.

Someone asked me the other day—“do you strive to be more dark cabaret, noir jazz, or witch rock?” I wanted to strangle them! (laughs) Keep in mind my first release was in 1995 (with an EP before that), long before these terms or this type of mindset-marketing existed. Hell, I just write what I feel. There is never a pre-conceived “box.”

The sad thing is this hyper-branding ruins the impact, the poignancy, the meaning of a piece of art on its own terms. To merely slap it with a label is ignoring it. But hey, this is about business, not art, they tell you. Hello Internet.

That’s why, sadly, art has less meaning in people’s lives. When I was growing up, that’s how you bonded with someone. (Certainly if you were an outlier.) What bands do you listen to? What books are you reading? What are your favorite films?

Now, it’s what phone do you have? What apps? How many Facebook friends do you have? Tech has become the barometer.

This constant commodification is ruining culture in general. It’s ruined so much of what music is, and what impact it had on your life. Music was expression. It could be dangerous, subversive, it STOOD for something. If you saw someone from across the room with a Gang of 4 t-shirt, you knew they were a kindred spirit. There would be that constant, crazed search for your favorite band photos, t-shirt or buttons in the back of magazines, or at an obscure record store. You had to put effort into the quest! It meant something! Now it’s pointless stock at at Hot Topic or Target.

I saw a guy in LA recently wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. I asked him about Kurt Cobain, he said he did not know who that was.

I’ve read comments on my own music videos that say “I really like this music, but don’t know what this style is called, it’s so unique, so I’m not sure if I can like it or not.” How sad we now need PERMISSION to think for ourselves. Be brave enough to form your own opinions! To create whatever you wish to create. If anything, that is my message, the entire point of my career: Embrace your strange, live your life brazenly and unapologetically. Honor your distinct vision amidst the struggle, the stupidity, the naysayers, and the corporate brainwashing. There has never been a more vital time to escape the cage.

Jill Tracy portrait by Audrey Penven

Diabolique:Tell us about some of the ways in which your music has made it into film and television.

Tracy: My first major placement was an NBC-TV newsmagazine segment about absinthe (late 1990s when it was still illegal and taboo.) They used my music, with Erik Satie, plus Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson while you saw visuals of Oscar Wilde, Baudelaire, and Van Gogh cutting off his ear in an absinthe stupor! (laughs.) I felt like I had arrived in grand company.

My songs and instrumentals have been in several independent and feature films. I did the end title song for Jeremy Carr’s brilliant new thriller Other Madnesses, which has won several awards. Plus— PBS, the CBS hit show Navy NCIS featured my songs as themes for sultry goth forensic scientist Abby Sciuto (Pauley Perrette.) And Showtime used my track “Evil Night Together” as the Final Symphony—the ad campaign to promote the wildly-anticipated final season of Dexter.

I would love to do more scores and songs for film/TV.

Diabolique:Where do you find inspiration?

Tracy: It’s never any one thing specifically; that’s the beauty of it, the sheer randomness. There’s that great Leonard Cohen quote—”If I knew where the good songs came from, I’d go there more often.”

For me, it’s more of a sensory response to the immediate; a word or phrase, an image, a story, a mood, a fragrance, textures, colors, the allure of the unknown, the forbidden, anything that enables me to ‘slip into the cracks” and get out of this world for a while. It’s the grand escape hatch.

And even though I’m holding the reins, I never know where it will take me. I simply trust that I can hold on with all my might, and see it through to the other side. That’s the place where all songs live.

Diabolique:So far what would you consider your biggest achievement?

Tracy: One of my greatest pleasures of late has been immersing myself alone in unusual locations, or a place with a strange story, and composing music as a reaction to that environment. The intense purity and immediacy is so exciting. You are hearing my raw emotional response at the piano.

I’ve found myself conjuring the hidden score in decrepit gardens and cemeteries, on the antique Steinways of the (supposedly haunted) Victoria B.C. 1890 Craigdarroch Castle, an 1800s San Francisco medical asylum, abandoned buildings inside the famed 1776 Presidio military base, and the Los Angeles mansion of a 19th century murderer.

The lovely and difficult thing about this work is that I can’t prepare for it, as I never know what to expect. I must allow myself to be completely vulnerable; simply feel, and react. It’s not about me anymore; it’s about the music, the story. It becomes so much bigger than any of us.

My huge dream-come-true is that I am first musician in history to ever be awarded a grant from Philadelphia’s famed Mütter Museum, to create a series of work inspired by its spellbinding collection of medical oddities. I spent nights alone at a piano amidst the Mütter’s grotesque cabinet of curiosities, which includes the death cast and conjoined liver of original Siamese twins Chang and Eng, the skeleton of the Harry Eastlack “the Ossified Man,” Einstein’s brain, The American Giant, books bound in human skin, and the Mermaid Baby. It was vital for me to be in the presence of these long-lost souls, as I composed and recorded. They become an actual part of the work and not just the subject matter. I began this project in 2012, with subsequent visits, and have become totally caught up in the research! What began as a single music album, has transformed into the idea of a full-blown book/memoir project with music and visuals. Excited to finally get back to it.

Diabolique:If you could work with anyone past and present, who would it be?

Tracy: I’d love to have jammed with Led Zeppelin’s drummer John Bonham. Actually Jimmy Page (guitar) and John Paul Jones (bass) are all such phenomenal musicians, I would adore the opportunity to play with them. As well as the members of Pink Floyd. What a dream to be in the studio with David Gilmour! I would love to have Thom Yorke and Nigel Godrich (Radiohead) produce an album with me, and create that huge, heartbreaking soar of gloom and elegance.

I wish I could have sung a duet with David Bowie. I have not recovered from my sadness and depression over his death.

Diabolique: Where can we follow you on social media?

Tracy: Here are the links! Follow me for ongoing adventures in the netherworld…

Jill Tracy talks with Film Noir Foundation’s Eddie Muller about the allure of the dark side, the arsenic craze, spending the night with skeletons, and the horrors of the entertainment industry

Jill Tracy’s album Diabolical Streak was suggested to me because of my predilection for all things noir. It became an essential part of the musical backdrop to my writing Dark City Dames: The Wicked Women of Film Noir. Jill Tracy finds a compelling sensuality in everything, from the promise of one wicked night to the fiery end of the world. Her breathy vocals entice the listener into a sonic dreamscape—a dark and magical realm, simultaneously cerebral, sexy and sinister. It’s not safe here, but you won’t be in any hurry to leave. Beneath the force and filigree of Tracy’s original piano lines lurks cold steel—the woman has guts to spare, creating something so distinctive amidst the corporate musical mediocrity that’s poisoning the culture.San Francisco Chronicle hails Jill Tracy “a femme fatale for the thinking man.”LA Weekly has christened her “the cult darling of the Underworld.”

One of the cuts from Diabolical Streak, “Evil Night Together” was chosen by Showtime Networks as the “final symphony” to promote the highly anticipated last season of Dexter. Her music has been featured on NPR, CBS-TV Navy NCIS, and numerous independent films.

During the first two years of Noir City at San Francisco’s Castro Theatre, I asked Jill Tracy to provide musical interludes and introduce films at several screenings. She has also performed twice at LA Noir at the Egyptian Theater. Both of us were seeking fresh ways to expand our work—a constant challenge for independent artists in any medium. Recently I caught up with Jill Tracy again, and we discussed the obstacles, and inspirations, that writers and musicians share—as well as the beauty that forever lurks in the shadows. —Eddie Muller

Eddie Muller: Would you still make music if you couldn’t reach an audience?

Jill Tracy: Music has always been my catharsis. So yes, absolutely I would. I create my best music where there’s no audience.

EM: Don’t you need an audience to validate what you do? I ask myself: Would I still write if I knew I wasn’t reaching many readers?

JT: It depends on one’s intentions. I would always create music, regardless. But having people respond to what you do does elevate it to a different level. It’s odd, but when I perform a song for the first time in front of an audience, a little death happens. It’s not mine anymore. It’s sad, in a way.

EM: Do you get over that? You must.

JT: Yeah, because you’ve got to perform it again the next night! [Laughs] But your personal attachment is gone. Songs arise from emotions, experiences, moods and dreams. Playing it alone for myself, I can revisit that place—it’s an actual souvenir of Time. Playing in front of an audience takes that away.

EM: Isn’t the point to turn it loose?

JT: Depends. Some songs I’ll never perform live because I don’t want to turn them loose. They’re a tonic for me. I go back and spend time in that song, and I don’t want to share that experience with anyone.

EM: There are songs you’ve written that nobody’s heard?

JT: Oh, yeah.

EM: I couldn’t imagine writing a story—

JT: Isn’t it like keeping journal entries?

EM: I don’t keep a journal. No. To me, someone reading the story completes the creative process. But I’ve talked with painters, for example, who only show their work grudgingly. “I didn’t paint this to be seen, I painted it because I had to.”

(Jill Tracy photographed by noir photography master Jim Ferreira)

JT: You’re vulnerable when someone hears your song for the first time. You’re disrobing for the crowd. But you’re right, it does eventually make that lovely transition into something else. I give it to THEM. And the beautiful thing is—often they need the song more than I do. I’m constantly moved and shocked by the amount of mail I receive where someone tells me my music was the only thing helping them through a rough time, or it was because of a certain song of mine that saved them from committing suicide. Often fans will come up to me at shows with tears in their eyes, just wanting me to hug them. It’s such a poignant and rare connection, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

EM: Music affects people so immediately. No one reacts to a book the way they react to music. As a writer, that makes me envious. [Laughs]. It takes so much time to produce a novel, and to read it. Music plugs in directly.

JT: Yes, music is a living thing, captured immediacy—and the strange, intoxicating intimacy with a crowd. But I envy artists who can hang their work on a wall and step away from it. They can see others react to it. I can’t watch myself perform, or watch others watching me perform. I’m in it. It’s intangible. The moment the song is out in the atmosphere, it vanishes.

EM: That’s why you make records! Isn’t it gratifying to know you can get into somebody’s head like that? When someone tells me, “I read your book straight through,” that’s so satisfying. You must feel the same thrill when you know people play your album over and over again, that it has that impact on them.

JT: That’s my goal, to create music that transports them into another world, and allows them to linger there. I am a gatekeeper of emotions…There’s nothing more powerful than that. That’s the magic music allows—like a trap door or portal, it accompanies us—to a place we never knew existed, but wish to go. Similar to when I read your novel. I was ill with the flu. I was in bed. It was fantastic, because I was able to get out of my miserable head and live in your world for a while.

EM: Diabolical Streak was more like stepping into a novel or a film than it was like listening to a collection of songs. It’s like, “Oooh, this is a place she’s created.”

JT: The kingdom of the mind’s eye.

(Stormy late nights in New York City: shooting the music video “Pulling Your Insides Out)

EM: How influenced were you by cinema?

JT: I have always been drawn to the mysterious— fantastical, otherworldly imagery. Worlds sans-time. I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock, Bernard Herrmann, Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling, Jean Cocteau. As a child, I tried to build a time machine in my bedroom closet with a tiny chair and my favorite zebra lamp. I thought one could travel through the shadows. I just wanted to live in those worlds. I still do.

JT: When I wrote “Where Shadows Fall,” I wanted to capture that sultry, intoxicating feeling watching film noir. Being under the sway of chiaroscuro—the shadows— that rapturous, dangerous and melancholy place we can really only fully attain in our minds. “Night has fallen, and so have we/ But seduction deceives us eventually…”
(Great moody horns and even bass flute on that tune by the legendary Ralph Carney, and gorgeous percussion by Randy Odell.)

EM: What inspires you of late?

JT: I’ve been immersing myself in unusual locations to compose music. It’s exhilarating and challenging as the environment not only drives the work but becomes part of it. I had a piano love affair with the antique Steinways in the (supposedly haunted) 1890 Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria, BC; channeled music in an abandoned 1800s San Francisco medical asylum, and the eccentric Los Angeles mansion of a 19th century murderer. I created an ongoing after-dark series at the wondrous San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers where I hosted night tours of the gardens and then performed music and curated each evening on a different intriguing theme— like the strange history of perfumes, poisonous plants and the arsenic craze, spirits that supposedly lived in various woods of violins.

EM: Your music videos have been shot in some provocative locations.

JT: My music video for “Haunted by the Thought of You” was shot in the magnificent 1909 Masonic Lodge in San Francisco, full of secret crawlspaces, strange tiny doors, and painted backdrops of Hades.This is where the Freemasons held their mysterious rituals. There are some great secret symbols and codes hidden in the video.

(Shooting “Haunted by the Thought of You” in the devastatingly ornate 1909 Masonic Lodge)

EM: Dare I say, your work is very literate. Are you concerned that it might be too literate, so it’s bound to be marginalized?

JT: Industry executives have consistently told me over the years, “Your music is amazing, but it’s too elegant, too sophisticated, too dark, too poetic, too smart, too cinematic,…you need to dumb it down and sound like everyone else.” One A&R guy actually said to me: “Your music and aesthetic is the best, most original thing I’ve come across in years, it’s just that I’d lose my job if I signed you. But could you send about 10 more copies of your CD? Everyone in the office wants one. It’s all we’ve been listening to!” (I told him he was welcome to BUY them from my site.)

Another TV executive told me I could not use the words “books” or “history” in a series pitch. Another told me I could not use the term “noir” or “femme fatale” as no one knew what that meant! (“Use spooky and sexy.”) The entertainment industry doesn’t give audiences the credit they deserve. I’ve walked out of several meetings with famous companies.

EM: That took bravery, but sounds like you dodged a bullet.

JT: As a child I absolutely loved it when a song made me pull out the dictionary to look up a word. God, how many kids first heard about Nabokov by hearing the Police song “Don’t Stand So Close to Me?” People are hungry to be inspired, to heighten their awareness. I know it’s the same in the book world. You have crap selling millions, and there are wonderful, artistic novels that nobody hears about.

EM: Fifty Shades of Dung. For every literary talent that gets recognized, like Michael Chabon or Jonathan Franzen, there are thousands who never get published, let alone recognized. In that regard, the parallels between the music, art, and publishing businesses are identical. We’re all in the same boat. And frankly, I’ll bet Chabon and Franzen bitch about their sales, too.

JT: The only goal for the business is making money and moving units. It’s never had anything to do with how wonderful a piece of art is, or how unique.

EM: True, but it has gotten worse. Lots of the popular entertainment that’s come out of this culture was the best America had to offer. Music, movies, books that were wildly popular. Hemingway was a significant writer and a best-selling author. He wasn’t force-fed to the public. There used to be an overlap where what was valuable artistically also sold. Now that huge corporations dominate the culture, all they care about is making the numbers work for them. And the broadest common denominator is where they’re going to invest. Otherwise, good luck selling your book or song for 99¢ on the internet.

JT: It’s never been at a lower point in history. It’s mortifying.

EM: It’s intended to keep people in the dark, and uninformed. They make better consumers that way.

JT: Death by complacency. I don’t let it frustrate me like I used to. Now that the traditional industry is crumbling, I’m reimagining my path. There’s never been a more vital time for artists and fans to band together. We don’t have to play the old game anymore.

(Portrait of Jill Tracy by Audrey Penven)

EM: You’ve always celebrated the outlier approach. When you first started out, didn’t you mastermind your own show?

JT: Right. Jill Tracy’s Mysteria was an ongoing live series of not only my music and stories, but an entire dark carnival, with sword swallowers, contortionists, puppeteers and snake charmers—a complete sensory experience. This was around 1996-97. A dark variety show was practically unheard of at that time. I created Mysteria out of necessity because no club would book me. So I sold them the entire spectacle. Mysteria went on to packed houses, and an ardent following and press. I was nominated for 2 California Music Awards, SF Weekly Awards, Best of the Bay, 3 magazine covers.

So while the record companies were busy sending me rejection letters saying “there could not possibly be a market for my work,” I was busy making a living selling music on my website, charting on CD Baby’s Top-Sellers in piano pop, singer/songwriter, gothic, film score, neoclassical, acoustic, all simultaneously! (Laughs) The industry had no idea! I realized the system was broken way back then. I knew I couldn’t go in the front door, and not really the back door either … so I became intent on inventing TRAP doors.

EM: That’s great. I empathize with what you’re saying about stretching your boundaries, while staying true to yourself. You have to scout out those pockets of like-minded souls. That’s what we do with the NOIR CITY film festivals. The ones outside San Francisco aren’t jackpots, but we’re able to reach the exact audience that wants film noir on a big screen. But it’s no “mass market.” More and more these days, artists who want mainstream commercial success have to whore themselves for the corporation.

JT: Can there really a goal of “mainstream” success today for serious artists? If you’re trying to fit in with the crowd, pretty soon you will just become lost in it. You must not be afraid to own your niche. Embrace your strange. Major label album sales are at an all-time low. It can’t be just about vacuous pop culture and marketing to kids.

EM: When I was fifteen, I never wanted to listen to musicians who were my age.

JT: That’s so true. I’d hear Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix or Led Zeppelin, and it was this seductive, subversive thing. Everyone was older than you and you’re like, Wow, I can’t wait to experience the kind of life they’re singing about! That was the allure of that music. It represented what we aspired to, what we dreamed of. It was dangerous. That was the whole point. Today it’s all safe, homogenized and soulless. Created by corporations.

That’s why, sadly, art has less meaning in young people’s lives. When I was growing up, that’s how you bonded with someone. (Certainly if you were an outlier.) What bands do you listen to? What books are you reading? What are your favorite films?
Now, it’s what phone do you have? What apps? How many Facebook friends do you have?
Tech has become the barometer. It’s tragic.

JT: Everything has changed. It’s our lifeline. We’re able to bypass the old school commercial system and operate directly to fans. We did not have that choice before.
The hardest, but in the end, most liberating thing for me was to accept the fact that the childhood dream I once had—and struggled years to attain—simply doesn’t exist anymore. That is still a difficult revelation. But once I decided not to be held hostage by the old dream, the floodgates seemed to open.

EM: Do you resent how much effort it takes now to handle the business side, when what you want to be doing is creating art?

JT: Of course, but that’s the way it’s evolved. I’m running a business. I am the brand. I would much rather be focused on the creative. But there is a newfound freedom living this way, too. You learn to prioritize, delegate, and say no to things.

EM: With this ability to be connected all the time, is there a downside to the internet?

JT: I read an interesting study the other day talking about how if social media had been around in the last century, how many classic novels would actually have been written? Would many of the greats have merely sat around in cafes reading their Twitter feed?

EM: Imagine if all those great barroom writers were on Facebook instead of scrawling stuff into composition books.

JT: The Internet is a blessing and a curse. The ease and ability to obtain information and connect with anyone in the world is glorious. But at the same time it’s destroying our individuality. Everyone is getting their news/views from the same sources, not looking outside, or challenging themselves to think further. We’re trapped in a giant echo chamber.

There has never been a greater need to venture outside the cage, to seize our true passions and authenticity. To be an individual now takes a great deal of effort.
Sometimes I will post on Twitter—“No tweets today. Honoring the Mystery.”

EM: Your short film “The Fine Art of Poisoning” has become practically a cult classic, winning all sorts of awards and getting attention from the likes of Clive Barker and Guy Maddin. Any more film projects for you?

JT: I’m delighted and shocked when I hear from film school students who say “The Fine Art of Poisoning” was part of their curriculum! Animator Bill Domonkos is a genius. We went on to collaborate on NERVOUS96.
I’ve worked with the brilliant Jeremy Carr on 4 films now, including our new short “Portraits of a Nightmare” and well as his debut feature Other Madnesses, which has already won several awards. I’m eager to work on more films.

(Jill Tracy among the Hyrtl Skull Collection in the Mütter Museum, as featured in Penthouse. Photo by Evi Numen.)

EM: But my favorite part of all this is that you ended up in Penthouse…

JT: Ha! Yes, I can now say I have a spread in Penthouse. It was part of an interview about my work at the Mütter and my getting inspiration from the dark side of history. I was not nude, but way better—at a piano, in a black backless gown surrounded by 139 human skulls from Viennese anatomist Joseph Hyrtl’s 1874 collection. Who else could say that? My father even went to a newsstand to buy Penthouse that month —while my stepmother waited uncomfortably in the car. (Laughs)

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From the Press:

“With a gaggle of acclaim already encircling her, there is little left to say about the gothic cabaret tour de force that is musician Jill Tracy. A darling of the critics and her peers (Lydia Lunch herself has bestowed glittering praise on Tracy.) Playing the dual roles of self-assured vixen and enigmatic storyteller, Tracy has seduced an army of followers with compositions detailing torture, revenge, poison and the blindsided nature of love, all delivered by her intoxicating voice.” -BARCELONA CITY GUIDE (Spain)